


Who countest the steps of the sun

by forthegenuine



Category: Shades of Magic - V. E. Schwab
Genre: A Conjuring of Light spoilers, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthegenuine/pseuds/forthegenuine
Summary: It has been a long time since Holland thought about love. So long, there are moments he forgets it exists. But there it is, right in front of him.
Relationships: Delilah Bard/Kell Maresh, Kell Maresh & Holland Vosijk
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	Who countest the steps of the sun

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! I hope you and yours are doing well. I know it's been a while... So I've been thinking about Holland (as you do) and started having _feelings_ about him again. I wanted to write something of a canon compliant character study. Please let me know what you think.
> 
> This story can be read as a standalone that takes place right before Kell takes Holland back to White London, and also as a Holland interlude for Chapter 3 of my current WIP, [A rose in the deeps](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21869947/chapters/52198312). An update for that story is forthcoming.
> 
> Title is from William Blake. I tried not to congratulate myself too hard on finding a Blake poem that works as a title of a _SoM_ fic. Because of English major reasons. Unbeta'd so sorry for mistakes in advance. Feedback is much appreciated.

_“Ah Sun-flower! weary of time,  
Who countest the steps of the Sun:  
Seeking after that sweet golden clime  
Where the travellers journey is done.”_  
––William Blake

⁂

Kell waits for him at the bottom of the palace steps. 

Perhaps it is to spare Holland his dignity, but his eyes are elsewhere, rather than watching him maneuvre the stone stairs hampered by the limp he suffers. Either way, Kell is looking somewhere several floors above them, his gaze fixed on one of the _Soner Rast_ ’s many balconies. He raises a palm in its direction, a small wave. Holland doesn’t need to turn his head to know what holds the younger man’s interest. He already knows he would see a slim figure watching them from above. 

But he glances upward anyway. For once, he is thankful for the grand opulence of the Arnesian royals, who built their palace so high from the ground, that he could not see the expression on her face from the height where she is perched. It is enough that he catches her line of sight, and he can sense her apprehension even from this distance. In truth, he cannot blame her. 

He isn’t sure what compels him, but he tips his head at her, silently hoping she doesn’t see. But of course she does, and to his astonishment, she returns the gesture with a nod. 

“Are you sure about this?” Kell asks, interrupting the wordless exchange.

Holland doesn't reply, and instead, pretends to channel all his attention into putting one foot in front of the other. He does not have to exert much energy in pretending. He brushes past Kell, as if he knows which direction they are meant to go, but in a few short strides, Kell is already walking ahead of him, leading the way. Holland falls behind as they walk through the city. 

It feels strange passing through this London, its very sky teaming with color and life and magic. It feels stranger still that he is no longer a royal emissary who is met with unease, nor a clandestine saboteur who slinks in the shadows; but a normal person who hardly turns a curious head. It fills him with more than a little envy.

It isn’t until they reach the edge of the city, when Kell speaks again. “Lila asked me to tell you good-bye. Earlier, before I left.” He stands at the foot of the green hill, waiting for Holland to catch up. Apparently, he decides it is the perfect time to have a heart-to-heart. “I know she wouldn’t have said it, but she’s thankful you saved her life in Rosenal.”

There must have been something about Kell’s eager face that makes him say it. Or perhaps, one doesn't simply let go of years of reflexive animosity just because they fought against a common enemy. Or saved each others’ lives. “Delilah came to my cabin that night,” Holland baits, even as he fights his own shortness of breath. “To try and thank me. She left very angry instead.” The memory of her skin under his fingers as he caught her wrist––bony and devoid of spark––returns to him, and he nearly winces. But he lets the insinuation settle between them nevertheless. A line cast to see where it might land. 

Kell nods. “I know,” he says, wholly unshaken. “She told me.” Seeing that Holland has caught up to him, he gives a tiny jerk to his head indicating the direction, and starts up the rise.

Holland furrows his brows, not bothering to mask his disappointment. “She… told you?” he parrots. 

“Well, yes,” he responds, as if it is the simplest thing in the world. “We talk. Anyway, she doesn’t do gratitude very well.” Kell halts, turns his body only slightly, and looks at him pointedly over his shoulder, “Quite a bit like you, actually.” He continues upward.

They climb up the slope, Holland staggering after him. He notes the swish of Kell’s red coat, keeping the rustle of trees and the scatter of birdsong company with each inclined step. He has never given much thought to what the other two _Antari_ mean to each other, or how deep their bond runs. He always assumed Delilah Bard is too much like him––solitary, self-preserving, a survivalist––to form an attachment with someone so contrary to herself. But he supposes he should have known, seeing how fiercely she fought for her person with the pocket-watch. 

He tries not to think about how easy it is to imagine the two of them revealing their secret selves to one another, sometime in the night when they are wrapped in each other’s arms. He tries especially hard not to remember the glint of the knife in Talya’s grip, that she would trade his heart for silver, and how the only time he truly held her secret was when she fell lifeless in his arms. For the second time that day, he is filled with more than a little envy.

From the elevation, Holland can see the city recede away from them, the _Soner Rast_ like a small model of itself, calmly reflected by the Isle. He might even call it beautiful. He raises his head and sees that Kell has stopped, and is looking down at him. But Holland doesn’t register disdain in Kell’s eyes, nor worse, pity. He reads something else altogether.

“I know you don’t want to be thanked for what you did for all of us. So I won’t. But I understand what it cost you. And since Lila isn’t here to say it, _I_ want to thank you for saving her life.” He pauses for a fraction of a moment before explaining, “She’s important to me.”

He finds Kell’s gratitude unsettling, and then it dawns on him. “You love her,” he muses, not intending to say it out loud but the words leave his lips before he can stop himself. 

Though it is not a question, Kell answers, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. “I do.” He says nothing more and resumes climbing. 

It has been a long time since Holland thought about love. So long, there are moments he forgets it exists. But there it is, right in front of him. He sees it now: Kell’s ashen face as he held Delilah’s broken body in Rosenal, and her anguished scream when Osaron rammed a spike through Kell’s side. Now that he thinks about it, he might have even been there at the start. The earliest seed, a new bud––gruesome though it might have been, tinged with blood and the stale air of that other, magicless London. And, if everyone aboard _The Ghost_ has hearing as good as his, he isn’t alone in bearing witness to its first bloom. 

But _love_. 

He has long given up on the idea, and apparently, despite himself, his own hand has helped it take root. And then, by imprisoning Osaron, once again his hand has given it ground to grow.

Holland takes up the path again, his steps feeling not quite as heavy as they did earlier, knowing he would have left not one, not two, but three worlds better than he found them. He only hopes it is enough. 

The answer fairly takes the breath from his lungs once more, and he takes a moment to rest on the stone bench ahead of him. He does not realize that they have reached their destination until Kell repeats his question, “Are you sure about this?”

⁂

**_end_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Feedback feeds my soul! x
> 
> I'm [@forthegenuine](http://forthegenuine.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Let's be friends!


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